


Not a Plumber

by KaavyaWriting



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Female Thorin Oakenshield, Female Thorin, Fluff, Modern AU, No really this is "rot your teeth" rule 63 modern Thilbo fluff, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaavyaWriting/pseuds/KaavyaWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo's sink breaks. Thorin is going to fix it. Bilbo finds it all rather exasperating.</p><p>Really this is an excuse to write ridiculously fluffy modern AU Rule 63 Thilbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a Plumber

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilithiumwords](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithiumwords/gifts).



> Unbetaed and written in a rush of inspiration. :)

"Thor-in," Bilbo said. And she most certainly did not whine, whatever her girlfriend's perfectly sculpted eyebrow was currently trying to claim.

"Bilbo," Thorin said back, voice calm and sounding entirely reasonable, even if there was a curl of amusement sneaking along in her smoky voice.

Bilbo was also most certainly not affected by that voice. Not a jot. Nope. She ignored the shiver that slithered down her spine and crossed her arms. "Would you put the toolbox back where it belongs?"

"Toolboxes are meant to be used," Thorin said even as she set it down on the floor by the kitchen sink. The floor that was currently a ravaged landscape of hastily rescued bottles of household cleaners and sopping wet bath towels. (The old, raggedy ones Bilbo sensibly saved for occasions just such as this, when one part or another of her home decided it would like to leak bits of itself all over her clean, freshly scrubbed floor.)

"Yes, I _know_ that," Bilbo grumbled. She held her ground, staring down her less-than-impressive button nose at Thorin, whose razor-straight nose was far better at intimidating people, and which saw far more practice at the effort too. "However, _my_ toolbox is not for _you_ to use in this particular scenario."

"Your faucet is leaking a biblical flood across the tiles, and weren't you just complaining it was going to damage the molding if it went on much longer?" Thorin was already on her knees, bending to stare into the sink cupboard where the offending pipe lay in shadow, and at just such an angle to show off her delectable bum in her customary snug jeans. The way the worn, black leather belt pressed into the dip of Thorin's back was far too luscious a sight to be allowed. It occurred to Bilbo for the thousandth time since she'd met Thorin that she was a hopeless goner where the prickly photographer was concerned.

She firmly dragged her eyes away from Thorin's … derriere and tried to remember she was annoyed. No, she was mad, drat it all. Broken pipes would ruin anyone's day surely. Thorin would not distract her.

"Yes, I was an hour ago, how kind of you to notice. Which is why I turned the water off. An hour ago."

"I wasn't here an hour ago," Thorin said.

"You were on the phone, weren't you? Or was that your doppelganger I was talking to? Anyway, I've already called a plumber," Bilbo said for the umpteenth time. "Who will be here in the morning."

Thorin grunted some noncommittal agreement. "You'll need to hold the flashlight so I can see."

"You said not five minutes ago you don't know anything about faucets." Despite herself Bilbo stepped in closer, swooping down to catch the smooth, silky fall of Thorin's black hair away from the sopping towels beneath the sink her idiot girlfriend was now leaning in. Thorin's hair, like the rest of her, was too beautiful for proper words; if Bilbo were to go completely dippy over describing it, she would say it was thick and black and soft as a wolf's pelt, often held back from her face by two sleek braids running from her temples and tucking behind her ears to tie at the back. "And you're going to get filthy," she added halfheartedly, efficiently tying that mass of hair back with one of her own ever-present bands.

Bilbo wore hair bands on her wrist like some people wore lockets or rings. They were always on her person or she'd never manage her untamable hair, frizzy, curly, unruly mass that it was. About every three months Bilbo contemplated cutting it all off, but every time she mentioned it to Thorin a look of horror would pass over her face, and she would make Bilbo swear to keep it because it was so "lovely and fluffy," to which Bilbo always made a face, "and exactly right for running fingers through." Besides, last time Bilbo had cut it all off she'd ended up looking like a hedgehog.

A warm hand curled around her ankle and Bilbo's toes reflexively curled against the damp, cold tile of the floor. Well, uncomfortable tiles were the sort of sacrifices one made for the joys of shoelessness. She blinked down at Thorin, who was now lying on her back, half wedged into the sink cabinet and staring up at Bilbo with a soft, concerned frown pulling at her lips.

"Alright, love?" she asked. A calloused thumb stroked against Bilbo's anklebone.

"Your shirt is ruined," Bilbo sighed, eyes dropping to the white button-up Thorin was wearing. It wasn't white anymore, smudged with god only knew what grime. Bilbo made a mental note to thoroughly clean the cupboard before firmly shoving it from her mind. What was more eye-catching, despite Bilbo's best efforts, was the way the water had soaked in to turn the shirt sheer, revealing tantalizing hints of a pale, smooth stomach and the solid white of Thorin's cotton bra.

"I'll take that as a yes," Thorin sounded far too smug, and when Bilbo guiltily looked back up to her face she saw a smirk now curling those sinful, pale lips. "So, flashlight?"

Bilbo shook the hand off her ankle with a grumble. "The plumber comes highly recommended."

"By _Nori_ you said," Thorin argued, head ducking out of sight. Bilbo grudgingly snatched up the flashlight from the toolbox.

"Nori knows the best," she said, but nonetheless sat herself down at Thorin's hip, flashing the light up into the darkness she hadn't been able to divine that morning. "And there's three leaks in there as far as I could tell, and I really need the kitchen—"

"For your catering sampler and the meeting tomorrow, I know. Nori knows the _worst_ sorts, I do wish you'd stop relying on him." Thorin started fiddling with something Bilbo couldn't see, so she took to admiring the long line of Thorin's neck instead, and the way the shirt was now damply clinging to her collarbone.

"That's a bit strong," she said, to distract herself from what she really wanted to be doing now that Thorin was back in town. Thorin was certainly in the correct position, but it generally involved fewer sinks and more beds. She firmly put _those_ thoughts from her mind along with her ever-growing to-do list. They would have time for that later. "Anyway it's an emergency."

"You could cook at my place," Thorin said.

"Oh yes, in that matchbox you like to pretend is a kitchen?" Bilbo rolled her eyes. "With the one pot and one frying pan you claim constitutes a complete list of kitchen appliances?"

"Some of us are not chefs," Thorin said.

"Nor are they plumbers," Bilbo said.

She could feel Thorin rolling her eyes. "If I can fix a broken down piece of junk some fool decided to call a car in the middle of a desert with a bunch of pissed off, armed drug dealers running me down, I can damn well fix your sink, Baggins."

"A car is not a sink," Bilbo said, unable to help herself. Sometimes Thorin made it too easy. "And what you choose to do in your spare time is certainly no concern for me and my sink either."

" _Spare time_ ," Thorin muttered. "I got some of my best shots on that trip."

"Only because Dwalin was there to keep you alive to do it." Bilbo leaned into Thorin's thigh. "You might pick less dangerous places for your photography every once in a while. Take a photo of a flower. A tree. Something nice and green and without a gun pointed at you."

All she got for her trouble was a grunt. After five minutes, a declaration that there were two disconnected hoses hidden behind the main pipe, and a demand for three different wrenches, Thorin finally spoke up again. "You have all the pots and…zesters and whatever here. Just bring them over to my place. I've seen you work magic in my kitchen when pressed, if you'll recall."

"Under duress. You want me to lug my 'zesters and whatever' to and from your place to cook just so you don't suffer the inconvenience of my calling Nori for help," Bilbo deadpanned. Secretly she was pleasantly surprised Thorin remembered zesters were an actual thing, and that Bilbo had them. Maybe Thorin even remembered there were four in Bilbo's collection and what they were used for, but she wouldn't hold out hope.

Thorin's husky voice muttered something beneath Bilbo's hearing. Bilbo none-too-gently shoved her elbow into Thorin's thigh.

"You know he's in love with you, right?" she finally said.

"Oh for—not this again, Thorin." Bilbo sighed.

"He is," she insisted.

"I'm like a sister to him. You know how protective he is of Ori. It's like that, only worse with me because he thinks my being a woman requires 'higher security.' His words, not mine." Now there had been a conversation that had made Bilbo want to punch Nori right in the nose, at least more so than usual. Not that many conversations with Nori ever produced any other sentiment.

Thorin muttered something else under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like 'you do require higher security.' Before Bilbo could press she said in a louder voice, "I just don't see why you can't call me for help." She jammed the wrenches back in Bilbo's direction, and Bilbo narrowly missed one to the gut. "Done. Everything's fine."

Bilbo was making a skeptical humming sound in the back of her throat before the words even fully registered. Thorin pulled herself up into a sitting position and glared at her, even though they were so close she had to crane her head sideways to do it.

"It _is_ fixed, Bilbo. I am fully capable of fixing one little sink." Icy blue eyes and displeased, pale mouth all frowned at her, or they did as far as Bilbo could tell. Things tended to be a little blurred when only scant inches from one's face.

"You're out of town half of the year," Bilbo answered instead, putting aside a dozen doubts and a dozen more baiting teases. "Which is fine, it's something I've always accepted about our relationship, Thorin, but that makes it rather hard to call for help when my sink goes haywire in the middle of the night."

"I was here for your sink—"

"You only got back this morning," Bilbo corrected.

"Still here," Thorin argued.

Bilbo leaned in the last couple inches and kissed her, soft lips against Thorin's slightly chapped ones, warm, and familiar and setting thrilling fireworks off in the pit of her stomach. Ever since they'd met two years ago, Thorin's kisses had inspired fireworks.

After that, well. Things got a little more involved than Bilbo intended. She didn't quite know when they fell backward into the cupboard again, but she didn't really mind either as Thorin had one hand buried in her hair, fingers carding gently against her nape, and another cleverly sneaking up the back of her shirt.

A burning warm hand splayed against her bare back when they parted, fingers tracing lazy circles just below her shoulder blades. Thorin's voice was rough and satisfied when she said, "And your sink is fixed, if you've forgotten."

Bilbo laughed into Thorin's damp shirt. "We'll see about that."

They didn't, or at least not right away. Instead they ended up sitting on Bilbo's horribly dirty, wet kitchen floor, leaning against Bilbo's cupboards and each other, sharing languid kisses and all the news of a month spent apart. It was only when Thorin suggested going out for a late dinner that either remembered to check the sink. Well, check it after Bilbo remembered she had to turn the water back on.

When Bilbo flipped the tap… It was fixed. Hot water came pouring from the hot tap and cold water from the cold tap even. She tried—and failed—to hide her shock.

Thorin was smirking. "You can buy me dinner," she said. "For your lack of faith in my skills."

"Oh!" She shot her an exasperated look, though in honesty it was more at herself than Thorin. "Alright, fair enough. But a quick shower first and a change of clothes, I think, and then I will wine and dine my conquering hero." It was only looking around the kitchen she recalled her ever-growing to-do list. "But the dishes, I'll need to wash them before we go, and I'll have to call the plumber, and—my _meeting_!" Bilbo groaned. She'd forgotten about the potent clients she was meeting tomorrow at lunch. Completely.

Thorin made a face. "You'll end up cooking into the wee hours of the morning."

"Just let me get the dishes in the washer," Bilbo sighed. "We can still go out." Only Bilbo's plans for after dinner had been severely impeded. Peeling Thorin out of her shirt not the least of them.

"You could arrange a new date," Thorin said. She was already tugging her hair back down from the messy ponytail Bilbo had put it in only a few hours ago and carding out the braids, simultaneously kicking off her boots hard enough to send them flying across the spacious kitchen.

"That's not professional," Bilbo pointed out, already filling the dishwasher with everything she could get in there. A day without a washer or any water at all was hell on a chef's resources. "If I can make the meeting then I am going to." She ignored Thorin's grumbling, or the way Thorin came to rest with hip propped against the counter, half undressed and watching Bilbo avidly.

Thorin became a great deal easier to ignore—despite the unbuttoned shirt and absent jeans, thank-you-very-much—when Bilbo slammed the dishwasher closed and started it. Or tried to.

"Thorin," she said mildly.

Thorin hummed, stepped in close to wrap her arms around Bilbo's waist. "Shower?" she said mischievously, breath teasing against Bilbo's ear and oh, did Bilbo find it ever so lovely the way Thorin's four extra inches caused her to tower over her like that.

She blinked away the sudden cobwebs eating at her brain, a mix of irritation and her own brand of mischief welling up enough to tamp down the urge to climb Thorin like a tree.

"First," she said, a touch too sweetly, "I'd like to know what you did under the sink to break my dishwasher."

Thorin pulled back, stared at her in confusion then disbelief. Then her head dropped down to Bilbo's shoulder. "No."

"Yes." Bilbo didn't say it with villainous relish, nope, not in the slightest.

" _No_."

"'fraid so."

Thorin groaned. "You said the plumber was coming in the morning?"


End file.
